Words
by silent.symphonies
Summary: The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don't dare reveal-Elia Kazan But what happens when the author is thrown down by the one person she loves, though his words...well we'll just find out


_Disclaimer: I'm sorry, but I don't own Camp Rock, or High School Musical. And to whoever owns them you must ne really rich by now._

**Words**

Slamming the door shut I listened to the raindrops pitter-pattering on the windows. This one sound always used to calm me when I was a child, but now it just seemed inferior, like another noise put on top of an ever growing headache. It only makes you feel even worse, not any better.

I let my bag slip from my grasp causing a loud thud to be heard by anyone else in the house. The contents spilled out onto the floor scattering homework and books everywhere. I quickly sild down to the floor and put my head in my hands.

I knew that this wouldn't have been a problem if he never existed. I knew this, but did he. Did he know what kind of affect this would have on me. And how much pain and suffering that this would cause me. Because I bet you he didn't.

He didn't expect me to come home in tears, running to my one place of solitude, my room, and spilling out the contents of my life. I lifted myself slowly from the floor. To the point where I just seemed entirely lethargic. My legs felt like j-ellow, barely supporting the rest of my body.

My some miracle I made it to the other side of my room, crouching down so that my head was under my bed. I felt a pain in my chest, shooting out in every direction, as I pulled out a box. Inside contained all of my journals. Most of them occupied with useless stories, and others seemed to be filled up like books.

I slowly pulled out the oldest, and most coveted, one from the box. This was the first story, or attempt, that I have ever wrote. I shook my head and put it back down. This wasn't wright it was just one persons opinion. One person that meant everything to me.

I slowly picked out another journal, only half full. I skimmed the pages of the book, tearing each page from its binding and ripping them up. I took the cover and threw it across the room. It made a loud bang when it hit the wall, but I just ignored it. I picked another journal out and did the same. This pattern followed several times, until by then I had ripped every notebook that had ever once contained my writings.

I looked around the room, my tear stained face obvious in the mirror. My journals now in ruin lay across the floor. I picked each one up slowly and put them back into the box. And that's where I spotted it. The florescent yellow notebook, which proudly proclaimed Mitche's songs on the cover sat there. I'm surprised I didn't notice ahead of time.

I walked over to it. Not letting a single thought come into my head. I pick it up looking into the window, the raindrops making patterns on it. I make my way to my bed, climbing slowly on top of it. This yellow notebook was different than the rest. It was a song book.

I thought about what I was going to do with this. He had insulted all of my writing abilities, making me the laughing stock. Teasing from classmates, insults down the hallways, lies, and rumors spread everywhere I was. This was only one person, one person who was able to cause this entire change in everybody.

I sighed as a tears rolled down my cheek. I opened the songbook up and ripped out all of the pages carelessly, shredding each piece, until there was nothing left, but bits of unusable paper and a plastic cover. I stuck the songbook into the box, now located back under my bed, and sighed.

If only this person had never come into my life. Building me up and just bringing me back down. Making me feel alone, and cold on the inside. The bitterness of his voice filled my head even now.

My phone rang, the melody of Secondhand Serenade's Fall for You floated throughout the room. Making it echo and seem almost empty. I groaned and walked over to my bag. I could still hear it ringing, but in the mess it was hard to find. I pushed a few books around and finally saw it.

"Hello" I said my voice shaking a little

"Mitchie" He said his voice warm now the bitterness erased

"Hello" I say coldly

"Look I'm sorry about what I said. It didn't mean to come out that way I was just…" He said before I cut him off

"No, listen what you did really hurt. And I have to say that you're just an egotistical self centered jerk. And to whomever else that is like you I can only help to pray for. Because Shane we are through. Goodbye." I said hanging up on the black hole of despair in my life.

Because I just have to believe some of this quote by Scott Westerfeld, one of my idols. "Not everything made you stronger. It was possible to survive, yet still be crippled from the trouble. Sometimes it was okay to run away, to skip the test, to chicken out. Or at least get help…"-Midnighters: The Secret Hour And I know that's what I'm going to do, get help.

**Thanks to all who have stuck with me through every unfinished Fanfic I have ever written. So I'm gonna be doing short stories now. That means that I'll actually be able to finish. And who knows maybe I'll end up with a bunch of short stories that weave into each other to make one whole story, or bigger picture.**

**LoVe,**

**Jersey Baby**


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